


babel

by ultranos



Category: Frozen (2013), Shin Megami Tensei Series
Genre: A+ Parenting, Body Horror, Gore, Language, Other, Violence, beware the smiling man, chocolate or lackthereof, general mayhem, higher math, it's an SMT apocalypse people, mental issues, not-so-implied genocide, questionable medical practices
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-02
Updated: 2014-10-06
Packaged: 2018-02-03 02:54:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1728467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ultranos/pseuds/ultranos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What does it mean to be a monster?  What does it mean to be human?  </p>
<p>Present day: the time of the Conception is at hand.  The great powers all have their pieces in play, with the goal of remaking the world as they see fit.  </p>
<p>And at the center of it all, the fate of the world and humanity rests on the broken relationship of two sisters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. ran away from the god of fear and he chained me to despair

**Author's Note:**

> This assumes no actual knowledge of any particular game in the MegaTen series (for all that it starts out maybe-sorta looking like _Nocturne_ ). Knowledge of a few games in particular might be helpful in catching cookies, but I’m playing fast-and-loose enough with multiple games that there should be surprises even if you’re familiar with them.
> 
> That being said, the rating right now is slotted at Mature, because that’s the ESRB rating on _Nocturne_ and _Persona 3_. Which have those for reasons related to that giant pile of things in the Warnings.
> 
> Title for this chapter from "Burn My Dread" - Yumi Kawamura, Souji Meguro

**_Elsewhere_ **

**_Elsewhen_ **

 

_The sky is wrong._

_That's the first thing she notices. The colors are wrong, angry and clashing, and the horizon doesn't look quite right. It's too small, too short. Like the world has gotten condensed, turned in on itself._

_The second thing she notices is the sound. She's standing on a cliff and from below, she hears the clash of steel and the howling wind. She hears the cries of the broken and the dying. She's afraid to look down, but something forces her gaze downwards._

_It's a massacre. The landscape is painted with blood and the bodies of the fallen. But these aren't men. No, she sees angels clash with devils, nightmare beasts made flesh screaming and tearing into each other. Inhuman screams and howls twisting along with their forms._

_And through it all, there is a path. Covered in rime and hoarfrost, it cuts through the melee, the bodies of the dead piled high on either side. It emanates from a single figure, wearing wicked-looking armor, striding forward, light hair whipping in the wind. She feels a weight in her belly, tight with fear, because this can't be true._

_As if hearing her thoughts, the figure stops and turns to stare right at her. The black and green tattoo lines are different, and the blue eyes are hard, too hard, and she can't breathe because the face staring at her is still the same one she sees in the mirror every day. Her doppelgänger smirks and mouths a simple phrase._

_She stumbles back from the cliff, arms clutched around her middle. No, that's not her. No, that can't be her. That can never be her. This is wrong, so very wrong. This can't be real._

_"It's not real." She spins around, fast enough to nearly trip. There's a young boy, blond haired and dressed in a three-piece suit. "Not yet."_

_He smiles, and it unsettles her. "Don't worry. You won't miss it."_

_Miss it._

_Miss it._

 

**Day 0**

**10:00 Sidereal Time**

 

"Miss Elsa." Elsa sits up with a jolt, flying back from where she'd apparently fallen asleep on her topography class notes. She blinks at Gerda, trying to wake up. "Miss, you have your 10:30 meeting with the Board in 30 minutes," her father's old personal assistant says, handing her a mug of black coffee. "You did manage to read over the quarterly reports, I assume."

 

"I did," Elsa says, between sips of black coffee. "I finished those before I started on my classwork." She spares a rueful glance at papers on her desk. "Fortuitous, I suppose."

 

Gerda looks like she wants to say something, but holds her tongue. Elsa can guess what it is; she's had the argument enough with various members of her father's old staff in the three years she's been in charge. Elsa Arandelle, twenty-one years old and CEO of the very rich, very illustrious, and very competitive Arandelle Group, the company that operated in numerous fields and practically owned the city. When her parents died in an accident three years ago, Elsa had been forced to accelerate her degree, take over the company, and take guardianship over her semi-estranged younger sister.

 

Needless to say, Gerda has caught her asleep at her desk more than once.

 

(Even now, she tries not to think of Anna and their lack of relationship. She's only marginally successful; the coffee is cold the next time she brings it to her lips.) (She drinks it anyway.)

 

"After the board meeting, you also have a three o'clock appointment with Doctor Cyfer at Columbia Hospital," Gerda reminded her. "Your ride will be waiting for you by 2:40."

 

Elsa has been seeing the doctor since she was eight years old. Ever since the incident with Anna, which was really also when everything else in her life changed as well. Her father had found him, offered him funding and a place at the hospital the Arandelle Group owned, if only he could possibly help her. The man had interesting ideas, and his meticulous approach to isolating issues and attempting treatment had impressed her father enough to listen to him. It was on his recommendation that Elsa started wearing gloves and minimizing human contact. It was also his recommendation that she hide her abilities, especially from Anna, who he said could suffer a relapse if she forced herself to remember.

 

Even now, the memory of Anna, small and cold in her lap, makes Elsa’s heart race and her hands clench tighter around the coffee mug. She notices frost creeping up the handle, and quickly sets the mug down.

 

Mentally, she echoes the mnemonic Doctor Cyfer and her father had devised to help her as a child to help her conceal her power, stash it away and bind it so it wouldn’t be exposed to the world. Slowly, painfully slowly, but in what was probably only a few seconds, she feels the ice recede back into that place deep inside her. She cages it, hoping that it will hold at least long enough so she can deal with the board meeting. As always, she’ll need to be the perfect young CEO, presenting a calm and implacable face to the old men of her father’s board, men who would dearly love a piece of her father’s company if they thought her too weak.

 

She hates the meetings, not because she hates the company or hates the job. No, those are the things she loves. What she hates is how they look at her, try to dismiss her, because she is not her father. It sometimes just gets so hard to cage the ice, when it howls inside her like a raging storm. But she chains it down, because she can never, ever let it out. Because that path leads to ruin, and she’s already seen it. (It looks like a small girl, cold as ice, with a streak of white in her reddish pigtails, barely breathing in her arms and it’s _all her fault_.)

 

So she visits Doctor Cyfer, even now, three years after her parents’ deaths. Because her father believed he could help, and thin hope is what Elsa’s lived on for the past thirteen years.

 

Elsa nods, and Gerda leaves, taking that as a dismissal. She glances at the clock on her computer. She has just enough time to get ready for the board meeting, making sure her hair isn't mussed up from her impromptu nap and her gloves are on. The suit jacket and slacks make sure as little skin is showing as possible. (Can't afford an accident) She thinks about the company reports she went over. She thinks about the latest meeting with Doctor Cyfer she'll have to put up with. She thinks about the unfinished math homework on her desk. She even thinks, briefly, if Anna even realized she never made it home last night.

 

She tries not to think about what her doppelgänger mouthed to her in her dream.

 

_Are you ready?_

 

\----

 

**Day 0**

**14:30 Sidereal Time**

 

Senior year, Anna had decided awhile ago, is in fact nothing like how Hollywood portrays it as. From all the movies and TV shows, she figured she could be forgiven expecting all sorts of slacking and goofing off all the time, but nope. If she wants into a good college, and she does, if only so that maybe she could prove herself to be of some use to her sister, she's working her butt off. She's somehow got to balance theatre and soccer with, you know, actual homework. It's a minor miracle she even sees Elsa at home.

 

Oh wait, _she doesn't_. Because Elsa is _never there_. Thirteen years of silence and closed doors. Elsa's practically a damn wraith in her own home. It was kind of understandable, at first, because Mama and Papa said she was sick. The number of times she had to go to the hospital supported that. Except, well, she never got _better_.

 

Then one day she overheard one of Elsa's tutors talking to Papa. Anna didn't have tutors. Anna went to school like a normal person, albeit a private one. Elsa had tutors because she was sick, right? Then if that was the case, why was the tutor listing off track times to Papa that beat those of the actual track team? You don't make someone who's got cancer or whatever run laps. So maybe Elsa _wasn't_ sick and dying. Which left Anna with a lot of questions about the previous ten years.

 

Except, before she could ask either of her parents, they went away on a business trip and never came back. And then, instead of being able to lean on each other in the wake of that tragedy, because now they were _orphans_ , Elsa withdrew even further, which Anna, quite frankly, didn't even know was possible. Suddenly, her sister had no time for her, because she was busy with the company, and finishing a bachelor's degree in three years (seriously, who does that?) and starting on a Master's, and whatever other bullshit other thing that was more important than Anna and Anna's own inadequacies.

 

Okay. Maybe she has some unresolved issues.

 

Anyway, let it not be said that Anna Arendelle is not proactive. Because spring break is coming up, and she has the best plan ever to fix these issues. Which is why she basically ran from school after the last bell to the Arendelle Group Headquarters so she could corner her sister and propose The Plan. It was a good plan, flawless, Elsa wouldn't be able to find any reasons why it was bad, and oh crap, why is Elsa exiting that elevator? And headed outside to the street where Anna is? She's supposed to be in her office! Anna had noted her sister’s schedule last week!

 

Nothing for it then. “Elsa!”

 

Her sister startles, nearly jumping out of her skin. “Anna? Anna, what are you doing here?”

 

Okay, that hurts a little, because there’s really only one reason she’d ever be here. “I wanted to see you. I need to talk to you.”

 

Elsa’s eyes dart around the entrance of the building before she glances at her watch. “Anna, can’t it wait?”

 

Oh god, here we go again. “No, it really can’t.” She takes a deep breath and goes for broke. “It’s just, well, my spring break is coming up and--”

 

“Anna, please, I need to go,” Elsa interrupts.

 

So of course Anna just bulls on forward, because she will finish telling Elsa The Plan, dammit, “Elsa, come on. Listen to me. I just want to go on a vacation.”

 

Her sister blinks, then sighs. “And this couldn’t wait? I’m sure I could get Gerda to take care of it for you…”

 

“With you.”

 

And Elsa just stops. “What?”

 

“My spring break. Let’s go on vacation. Together. I looked up a few places. They’re all with internet and whatnot, so you can, you know, work if you have to…”

 

“Anna.”

 

“But they’re all away from here and it can be the two of us, just like it used to be...”

 

“Anna.”

 

“And they all have doctors on-site in case anything happens and--”

 

“Anna!” Anna’s jaw clicks shut. She can see Elsa’s shoulders shaking, and her hands are clenching and unclenching. “No. Just...no. Not now.”

 

“But...but why? Come on, Elsa!”

 

“I said no!” Elsa breathes out through her nose and closes her eyes. “I...I need to go. I’m sorry. I have an appointment. We can talk about this later.”

 

This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. Anna would propose The Plan, and even if Elsa had objections, she’d at least let Anna talk. She’d at least _listen_. Anna’s patience with her sister’s crap just snaps. “Later? Later? When’s ‘later’, Elsa? You don’t talk to me. You don’t come home. You never let me in! There’s never a ‘later’ with you! You’ve been telling me ‘later’ my whole life!” Anna feels her skin prickle as a cold blast of air blows past. “All you do is shut me out! ‘Later’ just means ‘never’ for you!”

 

“Enough!” Elsa is screwing her eyes shut, and Anna can hear the creaking leather of her gloves as she fists her hands. She’s trembling, and Anna would apologize, but this is the most reaction Elsa’s shown in years, and Anna’s got too much pent-up inside to clamp it down again. They’re standing there when Elsa’s car pulls up. When her sister opens her eyes, they’re as cold as winter. “Go away, Anna. I’ll see you at home, tonight.”

 

The sudden chill in her sister’s demeanor and words root Anna to the spot. She doesn’t follow as Elsa walks towards the car. “Fine then. I’ve just about given up on you.” And Anna might have sworn that Elsa flinched at those words as she got into the car, but that couldn’t possibly be right, and Elsa said nothing.

 

And there is Anna, left alone again, watching the black car pull away from the curb and drive off. She feels her eyes prickle, and angrily swipes at her face. She’s not going to cry. Not over this latest door she’s had slammed in her face. She stuffs her hands into her jacket pockets, and her fingers instinctually wrap around something, tracing over the worn plastic. She pulls it out and stares at the little keychain in her palm.

 

It’s a white snowman-like figure wearing a blue jester’s hat, collar, and boots. He’s got a big, silly fanged smile, and he’s waving. It’s dorky and childish and Elsa had bought it for her years ago, when they were still children, back when they were inseparable. Anna had been enamored with the little figure as soon as she saw it in the store and disappointed when Mama wouldn’t buy it for her. But Elsa had spent all of her allowance on it when Anna wasn’t looking, just so Anna could have it. She’d named the little guy Olaf, and Elsa had laughed, and Olaf had followed Anna around ever since.

 

“I don’t know, little guy.” Anna curls her fingers gently around the little plastic figure. She needs to go home. She’ll just go back to the big, empty house. She’ll do her homework, eat dinner, and go to bed. Despite Elsa’s words, she doesn’t really think she means them. It’ll just be Anna alone. Just like it always is. “I don’t know what happened to us.”

 

\---

 

**Day 0**

**15:00 Sidereal Time**

 

“Ah, Miss Arandelle. Right on time, as usual.” Doctor Cyfer stands up from his desk and smiles at Elsa as she walks into his office. He might have had a charming smile, but considering how long she’s been seeing him about her...problem...it really didn’t work on her. He doesn’t touch her. He knows better than to do that, and right now, Elsa is pathetically grateful for that. Her ice is threatening to leak out of her cracks, the power howling in her ears like a blizzard. It’s been restless lately, like a chained beast straining at its shackles. The accidental iced coffee this morning was bad enough, but it nearly slipped its leash with Anna, and Elsa would rather die than have that happen. Again.

 

( _Catch me, Elsa!_ )

 

She takes a shaky breath and smiles weakly. “Hello, Doctor Cyfer.”

 

He motions to the door. “Shall we?” She nods tightly, and the two of them walk to the elevators.

 

“It feels worse today,” she murmurs quietly, once they’re alone in the elevator.

 

“Oh?” He glances at her through dirty blond hair that’s fallen down around the sides of his face. “Stress?”

 

She shakes her head. “No more than usual.” She decides not to mention the nightmare. It’s just a dream. “I did have an argument with Anna.”

 

He frowns at her, although she can see the concern in his eyes. “About the usual?” She nods. “You know you can’t tell her. If she’s to know, she–”

 

“Has to remember on her own or else her memory might be damaged. I can’t force it. I remember.”

 

“I know it’s hard, Elsa. I certainly couldn’t live like you are, holding all that in.” He smiles softly. “Your father would be proud of you for your control.”

 

She sighs. “Sometimes, I wonder about that. I only barely have this under control, and that’s on good days.” She twists her hands around each other (the feel of the leather slipping across leather is soothing). “Lately, it’s been feeling stronger. Wilder.”

 

Doctor Cyfer hums in acknowledgement as the elevator dings. The doors open to the basement corridor. The first time she was down here, she clutched her father’s leg in fear. Now, as he swiped his ID card to gain access to the lab, the examination room illuminated by the large bank of computers and test equipment is almost soothing.

 

(One day, when Elsa has all of this under control, maybe she can look back and wonder at the absurdity of this statement.) (It’s a nice dream.)

 

He nods at the nurse who’s already in the room. While the woman is familiar, dark hair pulled back and with a surgical mask already in place (as always), Elsa has never heard her speak. (She’s rather embarrassed to admit that she doesn’t even know the woman’s name, despite having seen her since she was a child. No one’s ever told her what it is, and she’s never gotten the chance to ask.) The nurse motions at the examination table, and Elsa gingerly strips off her jacket, leaving her arms bare in the teal sleeveless mock turtleneck she is wearing underneath. She hangs up the jacket neatly before sitting on the table. Biting her lip, she looks up and sees Doctor Cyfer’s small nod of encouragement before she gently takes off the gloves. He always wants these sessions to occur without them, so he can get accurate readings.

 

The nurse takes her gloves from where she’s left them on the table. Doctor Cyfer comes over, and Elsa relaxes slightly when she sees that he’s already put on his own gloves. It’s a thin barrier, but as long as it’s not actual skin contact, Elsa’s been better at control. (At the very least, these are thinner than the cryo-gloves he had to wear when she first came to him.)

 

“So, you said that you were experiencing difficulty with your abilities lately?”

 

Elsa nods. “Yes. It’s been harder to conceal. I’ve had to lock myself away more often. It feels like something inside is straining to get out.”

 

The doctor hums and checks something on one of the computer screens. He frowns momentarily. He gestures to the table. “Why don’t you lay down?”

 

She does so, and he moves to the bed. He checks her vitals, same as always, and apologizes for the coldness of the stethoscope, same as always. It’s never bothered her, and she tells him, and the ritual soothes her nerves further. “How bad are the incidents?” he asks, looking troubled.

 

“They’re not...terrible. I’m mostly having trouble with liquids. And hot things,” she says wryly. “I miss hot cocoa.”

 

He chuckles. “Always the first thing to go with you.” He looks over his readouts. “Well, most everything here is normal, so that’s good news. You say you aren’t feeling more stressed?”

 

“Well, not more than I usually do. The Board is...the Board.” He clucks his tongue in understanding as he hooks up some of the other instruments to her. (It worried her the first time he did this, but conversation keeps her distracted, and at this point, she knows the pattern well enough that she doesn’t have to worry about the ice.) “Which really doesn’t make it easier, but it’s familiar, at least. But god, they’re just so…”

 

“Frustrating?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Men like that,” he says, slowly, pausing in his work and letting the nurse hold onto the cables, “like power. And they like everything neat and orderly, but according to their own design.” She nods. “It’s always rather exasperating when they don’t seem to realize they’re dealing with people, people who have their own ideas and are not automatons.” He grins at her, a sharp flash that makes him look so very boyish and mischievous. “But you know that, don’t you, my dear?”

 

She covers her mouth to hide her laugh. He continues on. “I wonder, though. I know what we’ve worked on for all these years, but I’m curious. What would you do if you could just...be yourself? If suddenly, you didn’t have to hide it?” There’s a strange look in his eye. “Would you put them in their place?”

 

“Well, no. Of course not. I couldn’t do that.”

 

His grin grows more toothy. “Ah, Elsa. Your restraint is admirable. So much power within you, and you try so hard to keep it down. Such a good girl. But I think you’re lying to yourself.”

 

Suddenly, he and the nurse are strapping her down in restraints. “Doctor?” This has happened before, but not since her parents died and she really wasn’t expecting it. She breathes shallowly through her nose, trying to keep herself from panicking and accidentally spearing the doctor or nurse with icicles.

 

He’s tightening a restraint to keep her head in place when he smiles down at her. It’s not comforting right now. “It’s not your fault, my dear. Really, I should have expected it at this time. You’ve learned your lessons _so very well_. And now it’s time for the next class. Just in time.”

 

“Doctor?” And heaven help her, she hates how her voice breaks just a little. He pats her on the head. Actually pats her. She’s now officially scared because this is _not_ the man who she’s been seeing for the last thirteen years, and she lashes out on instinct. She lets the ice go for just a second, and it tears out of her, frost blasting the walls and wickedly-sharp icicles flying at the man. But he waves his hand and the ice stops dead, falling to the ground and shattering, never even touching him. (He made the ice go away. He made it _go away_. All these years, and he made it _go away now_.) “Who are you?”

 

His smile grows wider. “The same person you’ve always known, Elsa, my dear. Doctor Lukas Cyfer. And I’m doing what I’ve always done for you. I’m _helping_ you.”

 

He gestures off to the side, and Elsa strains her neck trying to turn her head to see what he’s indicating. The nurse enters her field of view, carrying a strange metal box. Cyfer opens the box, reaches in, and pulls out a long, squirming...thing between his fingers. “This,” he says clinically, “is a magatama. And it will _help_ you so very much.” He brings it closer to her, and Elsa tries to move away, but the restraints are too tight, and don’t give despite the layer of rime rapidly growing on them. She can now see the thing’s bisected head and pincers as it thrashes in his grip, so close to her face. “Lesson one: _survive_.”

 

He drops it on her face. It rears up and screeches before diving at her right eye.

 

The lights go out.

 

Elsa screams.

 

\---

 

**Day 0**

**17:59 Sidereal Time**

 

Anna is finishing her dinner, alone in the house. Unsurprisingly, Elsa hasn’t come home, not that she really expected her to. She gets up from the table to put her dishes away. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees a flash of blue. It looks like a butterfly, which makes no sense. She turns to get a better look when the clock on the wall hits 6 o’clock PM.

 

And everything stops.


	2. the saints can't help me now, the ropes have been unbound

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "Howl" - Florence + the Machine

**Day 1**   
**00:00 Sleeping World**

The room is bathed in muted colors, trails of twilight streaming in through the windows. The hands of the clock on the wall don’t move. Anna strains her ears, but at this moment, all she hears is silence. There’s something deeply wrong going on here.

A rustle over on her left has her spinning around. There’s a strange piece of paper on the counter, one that wasn’t there before. Perched at the head of it, where it curls slightly off the counter, is a glowing blue butterfly. She approaches it carefully, and although the butterfly flaps its wings once, it doesn’t fly off. She looks down at the paper.

Actually, it’s not paper. It’s too thick, even thicker than the stationary she remembers from Mama’s office. Parchment, maybe? There’s something written on it, in fine, looping calligraphy.

_I chooseth this fate of my own free will. My Destiny is what I make of it. In this Contract, I acknowledge my Choices as my own. In this Contract, I acknowledge my Actions as my own. In this Contract, I acknowledge my Consequences as my own._

There is a line underneath, as if awaiting a signature. Anna frowns, and when she goes to pick up the...contract, apparently, her hand sends a dark blue fountain pen that totally was not there before spinning. Okay, this is getting a bit creepy. There’s nothing on the back of the parchment.

Right. There’s something in the back of her head telling her to sign it. And while Papa made sure she knew well enough to never sign anything without reading the fine print, as far as contracts go, this one is pretty straightforward. Also cryptic. But hey, at least someone is maybe at least pretending to make Anna’s own choices seem meaningful, even if this is just a stupid prank.

“Okay, fine. Whatever.” And with a flourish, she takes the pen and signs her name on the line. As soon as she does, the parchment glows blue,rolls itself up, and disappears in a flash of, also blue, light. “What the...this is seriously some Harry Potter-level weirdness here.” At which point, Anna realizes the butterfly is still there, which means, at best, she’s been talking to an insect.

Sadly, this is not the most ridiculous thing she’s ever talked to. Anna’s a big girl. She’ll own up to that.

The butterfly flies up so that it’s in front of her face. It swoops around her head once, twice, and then heads for the door. She follows it, having nothing better to do, and honestly, this is pretty weird. She passes by a window, glances out distractedly, and then stops in her tracks and whirls to look out again.

The sky is just _wrong_. Scratch that, the entire _world_ is wrong. It looks like someone had pulled up the edges of the world and folded it up, so that everyone was still on the inside, and parts of the world were hanging from the sky. Like the inside of an egg or something. Heck, she could even see Arisato Tower hanging from the center of the sky, pointing downwards. Oddly, it seemed to hang directly over the point of North Tower, which is also looking...kinda weird. Anna does not remember that tower having that many angles before.

And if that wasn’t bizarre enough, even from the window, Anna can see strange shapes flying through the air, circling and swooping around. Strange, winged figures, with claws and teeth and feathers and tails, in all sorts of combinations. Out of the corner of the window, in the long shadows of buildings and the setting sun, she can see other inhuman figures darting about. And speaking of the sun, she has no idea where that is, because there’s no sky anymore. So, seriously, what?

She backs away from the window, then turns to face the interior of the house again. The blue butterfly is still there, and is currently resting on the mantel. Anna’s breath catches in her throat. Oh. _Oh_.

The soft glow from the insect illuminates the picture it rests on. Her parents’ smiling faces stare back at her, as does her own, gap-toothed childish grin from her kid-self on Mama’s lap. And looking even more pale and solemn than usual, maybe because of the light, is child-Elsa.

Elsa didn’t come home.

She said she would, and even though Anna’s learned to not trust Elsa’s word anymore, with all the “later”s that add up to forever and a day, this time it’s different. Because outside is not normal, and okay, maybe Elsa isn’t dying of cancer or anything, but she’s still always going to the hospital. Anna doesn’t understand what’s going on, not at all, not with her sister, and let’s not even get started with the magic contracts and monsters and this _glowing blue butterfly_ she’s apparently following around.

But she does understand one thing. Elsa’s still family, still her sister, and is still the only family she has left. And the world’s apparently gone crazy, and Elsa never came home. So therefore, she’s still being an idiot and is in her office. And Anna needs to drag her butt out of that tower and back home where it’s safe.

This is what Anna tells herself, because she’s not going to let herself think anything else. It will be true. Elsa will be in her office, and Anna will yell at her for making her scared, and Anna will drag her home. And once they’re home, all by themselves, maybe, just maybe, they’ll actually get a chance to talk.

Anna straightens her spine, and the butterfly flaps its wings once again, as if in agreement with her mental decision. Which, it’s a butterfly, what the heck is she thinking?

Whatever. Standing around isn’t going to get her anywhere. She grabs her jacket and throws it on, grimacing for a moment that she’s still wearing her school uniform, but there’s no time to change. In a moment of inspiration, she grabs her soccer shin guards and puts them on, along with a good pair of sneakers, because outside did not look pretty, and well, better be safe than sorry. Wait. She could do even better. Anna dives back into the closet and grins as she pulls out an aluminum baseball bat. Perfect.

Thus suitably armed, she flings open the front door and steps out into the strange half-twilight that’s engulfed the city. It’s terribly quiet, but not the good sort of quiet. It’s the quiet of anticipation, the kind that she’s only felt in nightmares before, the kind that had her jumping at shadows when she was younger in the lonely nights after she got her own room. She tightens her grip on the bat, the leather on the handle squeaking reassuringly in her hands as she makes her way down the streets towards the Arendelle Group main office.

The clatter of an empty soda can down the street was her first and only warning. She spins around, and comes face to face with a group of three...creatures. None of them could possibly be taller than the average five-year-old, but the average five-year-old did not have claws and dog ears and snouts full of sharp teeth. She didn’t think they snarled as much either. Or carry around metal pipes. The one in front sniffs the air and looks right at her.

“Wot’s this? A human? ‘ey boys, looks like we got dinner tonight!”

Well, crap. At least they talk? “Look, I don’t want any trouble. Just...just let me keep going, and we’ll all be okay.”

The leader bared his teeth. “Eh, I don’ think so, girlie. Me an’ the boys here, well we be ‘ungry. Don’ worry. We’ll make it quick.”

Okay, negotiations definitely did _not_ work. One of the creatures springs at her, jaws wide and dripping with saliva (ew). She brings the bat up and slams it down on his skull, driving him into the ground. She spins, giving the bat enough momentum to crash into the gut of a second one, and she kicks hard at the back of his knees to take him down. If only she were wearing her cleats; then that’d really hurt. As it is, she’s just glad she’s wearing bike shorts under her skirt.

The momentary distraction nearly costs her, and she has to backpedal quickly to avoid the leader’s claws, jumping back over the first one on the ground. She notes that he’s recovering, but there’s no time to deal as she brings the bat up again defensively to block the leader’s open-mouthed lunge for her throat. His breath is hot against her face. She kicks him in the side. As he stumbles away, she sees the second one’s recovered and swipes at her. Anna blocks it with the bat, but the angle’s wrong and the vibrations make the bat throb violently in her hands.

God, she should have paid more attention to the softball unit in gym class.

She wrenches the bat away, dodges one, and kicks another. They’re circling her now, staying out of range. Crap, they’re actually clever. She keeps her eyes on them as best she can, which saves her life because they all rush her at once. The sound of claws hitting metal rings out as she once again manages to bring the bat up in time to protect her throat, and she plants her foot in the second one’s face. But the third slams into her when she’s off-balance. She hits the ground hard, and the creature is on top of her, breath hot and stinking.

Anna knows she is going to die.

It’s not fair. She’s only eighteen. She has her entire life ahead of her. Everything she’s been working towards, all her hopes and dreams, and this is how she dies? At the jaws of some creature? She’s only eighteen. She’s been shut out of everything her entire life, and her fate is to die in the dust here? She doesn’t get to see the future? She doesn’t get the chance? She doesn’t even get the _choice_? No. No, screw that. She’s not going to let it be that easy.

There’s something straining in the back of her mind. Something loud and hot and it’s fed by her anger, her determination to not let it end here. A word roars in her brain. Without quite realizing, her lips form the syllables and she gives them life with a hiss.

“ _Per-so-na._ ”

The something breaks free in her mind, and with a cry, appears before her with wind and flashing metal. A yelp is cut off, an unconscious body hits the pavement, and the other creatures stop in their tracks. All Anna sees is an armored woman, bearing a sword, floating slightly above the ground. She can’t see the woman’s face through her visor as her sword flashes again and the creatures’ howls of pain are silenced, but it wasn’t necessary.

“Joan?”

Anna would know the saint anywhere. She’s only had the portrait hanging in the house since she was small, and spent god only knows how many hours talking to the painting like an old friend. Joan of Arc, Jeanne d’Arc, the Maid of Orleans, and her closest confidant. And now apparently floating in front of her and knocking out strange wolf-like creatures that wanted to eat her. Okay, her life was weird.

Joan lowers her sword once it was clear there were no other things around that want to kill them. She relaxes slightly and then...shimmers a bit before disappearing from sight. Anna gasps, and then feels it in her mind. It’s Joan. She’s not sure how she knows, but she does, and Joan’s curled up in some part of her mind like she belongs there. And strangely, Anna isn’t weirded out by this. No, it feels...comforting. Like a cup of hot chocolate, with marshmallows, on a cold winter night. She _feels_ Joan huff a laugh at that, and it’s warm and tingly.

_I am Thou, and Thou art I._

“Joan?”

She feels Joan laugh lightly again. And there’s the comforting weight of _here if you need me_. Anna smiles and picks up the bat again. Okay. She should probably be freaking out by this, and she kind of is, but it’s not the time, and she gets the impression Joan can’t give her answers anyway. So she might as well continue on to Arandelle HQ.

And, well, she won’t get caught off-guard again like that. Not with Joan watching her back.

\---

**Day 1**   
**00:15 Sleeping World**

It hurts to wake up. There’s an ache somewhere deep inside her, at the core of her being. The ice is thrashing inside her, held back by something else, bands not of her making but straining against them all the same. The pain isn’t physical, though, nothing beyond limbs stiff from being held in place too long.

Slowly, Elsa opens her eyes. She squints against the harsh lighting of the ceiling above her. Her neck hurts. It’s bent at a strange angle, like there’s something underneath it tilting her skull down. She tries to twist her head to relieve the pressure, but something hinders her.

The restraints.

The doctor.

The... _thing_.

Everything comes back to her in a rush. She panics, and jack-knifes out of bed. There’s a momentary tug and then a loud tearing sound that shocks her back to herself. She’s sitting up in the hospital bed, breathing unsteadily. The strap keeping her head restrained is sitting on her lap, and the ones on her wrists are dangling uselessly.

She tore right through them.

She looks down, expecting to see all sorts of ice damage. Her breath catches in her throat, and she chokes on it. These are not her hands. These cannot be her hands.

“Oh god, oh god, oh god oh god oh god…”

Bold black lines, outlined with thinner green, trace down her fingers and the backs of her hands and up her arms. She turns her hands over, finding diamonds and triangles in the palms and trailing down her wrists.

Elsa bends over, fumbling at the straps of the restraints on her ankles in her haste to get them off. She tumbles off the hospital bed, paying no mind to the ice underfoot, formed by her earlier panic (no no no, this can’t be happening, please god no), as she stumbles to a mirror in the corner of the room. The porcelain sink nearly cracks, she’s gripping it so hard, because it’s the only thing now keeping her upright.

It’s her face. It’s the face from her dream. The bold black and thin green lines bisect both of her eyebrows, eyes, down to her neck. More lines branch off along her cheekbones, underneath her eyes. The collar of her turtleneck hangs around her neck like a tattered noose, allowing her to see that the patterns continue further. But why? Why is the collar ripped? She slowly, gingerly, as if fearing the answer (because what else could there be, what more is this nightmare going to do?), reaches up to feel the back of her neck and turns her head slowly. There’s a spike there, a piece of black bone jutting out of her spine where her skull meets her neck. That’s what tore the fabric.

(This isn’t real. This can’t be real. No no no no…)

Elsa pushes herself back, away from the damning image, fast as she can. She crashes into the hospital bed, sending it skittering across the ice. Her knees give out underneath, unable to take the weight of truth any more, and she crumples to the ground. (There’s snow howling around her.) (She doesn’t really care.) Squeezing her eyes shut, she curls up in on herself, legs pulled up to her chest and face buried into her knees.

_“Fear will be your enemy.”_

Someone told her that, when she was a little girl, on that horrible, horrible night. Fear of her abilities, what she could do. That people would harm her, hunt her, chase her for it. Because they wouldn’t understand, she hid. She’s hidden herself for thirteen long years, made herself as cold and impenetrable as her ice itself, cut herself off from giving those who would hunt her down any extra targets. (They would use Anna to get to her, because Anna is important, so very important, she couldn’t live with herself if Anna got hurt because of her. To get at her. Anna is always in danger, because of her.) And now the truth is painted on her skin, and she can no longer hide away.

_Are you ready?_

No, she’s not. She never was. She never wanted this, never wanted the curse that sent her to this place, that brought her to Cyfer’s door. What did he _do_ to her? What was that thing, that...magatama? It had hurt so much, like someone had set fire to her very soul. It’s ironic, really, that the ice inside her was the only thing that gave any relief. The last thing he told her was “survive”. Well, she chokes out a bitter laugh, she’s managed that one.

A beep draws her out of her misery. Elsa lifts her head and sees a flashing indicator on one of the computer screens. Slowly, she pulls herself up and stands in front of the console. Why she’s doing it, she can’t say. It seems important, and this bank of computers holds her life in records and data. Does it mean anything? What was that man’s plan? What did it all mean? She feels numb and hollow on the inside, but something intangible still prods her onwards. Her hand reaches for the mouse, and she clicks the icon.

It’s a video recording. Cyfer’s blond, smiling face fills the window. (Something deep inside her _snarls_.) “Ah, Elsa, my dear girl. If you’re watching this, then you passed the first lesson. Congratulations. Now, I’m sure you have questions and would like answers.” The tone is patronizing, and Elsa’s jaw starts to hurt from grinding it. “Unfortunately, it’s not that simple. This is a class, after all. What kind of teacher would I be if I just spoon-fed you the answers?”

Elsa can hear the metal of the keyboard tray creak under her hands, can feel the rime and hoarfrost spreading from her fingers and feet, but can’t bring herself to care, not right now. In the video, Cyfer’s smile grows wider, as if he knew what her reaction would be, and it’s making her _angry_ , for the first time in years, and it’s only through those same years of brutal control that she isn’t lashing out. She breathes through her nose, deeply and rapidly, focusing in on the man whom she trusted for so long. The man who slid a knife in her back (the spike on her neck _aches_ for a moment).

“However, my girl, since you performed so well on my last test, perhaps a reward of sorts is in order. So, an answer. What I gave you was a magatama from my own collection, one that I thought would resonate especially well with you. As for what it is, well, think of it as...a parasite, of sorts. It contains the true essence of a demon, and when it bonds with a human host, it will transform the host to a more suitable form.” No, he couldn’t be saying what she thinks he is. “Don’t deny the truth, Elsa, it’s unbecoming of you. I chose you for a reason, and I want to see you act like the intelligent girl you are.”

A growl escapes her throat. _This isn’t an answer, you, you…_ She can’t think of a good phrase to encompass her anger. But she listens, keeps the ice seeping out of her hands from destroying the computer, because this is the only hope for answers she has.

“I told you that the gift would help you, and it will. I can already see the changes in you.” He leans to the side, and behind him, she sees herself on the hospital bed, mouth open in a silent scream. If it weren’t for the restraints, she would be thrashing right off the bed, and she sees ice striking out from her bound hands in the recording, forming wickedly-sharp spikes on any available surface. But the area around Cyfer remains damnably free of even a hint of snow. In the present, the edges of the keyboard tray dig furrows into Elsa’s hands as she grips it even tighter, and she feels the metal starting to warp. In the recording, Cyfer keeps talking.

“It will grow with you and teach you. The world has changed while you were sleeping, my student. Hell is empty and all the devils are here. My gift will keep you alive if you use it correctly. And I need you alive, dear girl.” His face splits into the most satisfied smile she has ever seen. “Come find me, Elsa Arandelle. Come find me, show me your strength and will, and I will give you the answers you want.”

The video ends. Elsa trembles with repressed rage. What has he done? Why has he done this? She drops her hands from the tray with a cry of frustration, and the ice responds, racing to form sinister spikes around her. She raises her hand to let loose a barrage of ice against the bed when she suddenly stops. Wait. This isn’t her. This isn’t like her _at all_. She doesn’t get angry like this, doesn’t get destructive. Even on her worst days, she never tried to destroy property. For god’s sake, it’s a _hospital_ bed.

Her neck hurts. The magatama. Cyfer said it would change her, that it would...no, not thinking about that. It’s an excuse. Elsa is still her, she knows this. Knows it. She can never be anything else than the sum of her parts. This...this thing on her neck, on her skin, it’s just a mind game. She’s still herself, and that means...that means her actions are her own.

God, is this all it takes? One instance of self-doubt and she’ll forget everything she ever learned about restraint and control? To become a danger to everything around her? What a miserable failure she is. She can see her mother’s sad look and her father’s mouth curved in disapproval, and the force of their disappointment hits her like a tidal wave.

Her throat constricts at the thought and suddenly she can’t breathe. Where are her gloves? She needs them, right now. It’s all too much, her skin is not her own, the ice is leaking out, and she just needs something to reign it all back in. (Conceal, don’t feel. Don’t feel. For the love of god, get it together, can’t break now.)

Her gloves are sitting, folded neatly, on top of another computer. The well-worn leather is comforting as she slides them on, hands shaking until they’re fully inside their prison. The familiar weight centers her, calms the raging storm of her emotions long enough that she can shackle them once again. She can breathe again, sucking in great gulps of air that turn steadier as she centers herself.

She needs to get out of this room. It’s too much, too confining, too stained now with knowledge of what’s been done to her, possibly over the series of years. How long has he been planning this? Did her father know? Did he know what fate he was damning his daughter to? And maybe it’s willful ignorance and comforting denial, but right now, Elsa chooses to believe he didn’t. She needs to believe that right now, because her world has shattered (again), and she needs somewhere to plant her feet.

Her jacket is still hanging neatly where she left it by the door. She slips it on, feeling better still now that her arms are hidden. But she can’t do anything now about the marks on her face, or about the horn on her neck. Maybe she can sneak out of the hospital without anyone seeing. But then what? She can’t walk in the middle of downtown with tribal tattoos all over her face, and forget going back to the office.

Wait. Cyfer had said something else. That the world changed while she was out of it. Elsa’s not sure what that means. If she has to guess at this point, though, it can’t be anything good. But there’s no other option because she can’t stay in this room any longer.

The basement hallway is deserted. She walks quickly to the elevator, footsteps echoing down the murky hallway (where did this strange lighting come from? The lights were normal however long ago, and the change means she’s trying to ignore the inhuman shadow she casts on the walls. Too close too soon, proportions all wrong). However, when she pushes the call button, it fails to light, fails to actually call the elevator down. Of course it would be out of order. Of course. She has to find another way out, through a maze of hallways that, despite the number of years she’s been coming here, she’s never actually traveled.

She tries. But one door after another requires a key card and of course Cyfer didn’t conveniently leave his behind. It’s like she’s trapped again, just in a slightly bigger cage. She feels the ice inside her creeping up along her spine, up her throat, and she chokes it down.

Then she hears the footsteps. Heavier than hers, with strange clattering accompanying them. Elsa ducks around a corner, curls up behind a shelf. The footsteps come closer, and then pass by her alcove. She pokes her head around.

They aren’t human. In fact, they are large and green, both of them, carrying large and chipped and rusted (she hopes that’s rust) axes. She can smell their stench from here, and it takes all her willpower not to gag on reflex. She doesn’t know how good their hearing is. So she holds her breath until they turn down another corridor and out of her sight.

Elsa lets out an explosive breath and slides down the wall, pulling her legs to her chest and resting her head on her knees. “‘Hell is empty and all the devils are here,’ is it? Does that make me your Ariel, oh Prospero? Or am I damned to be your Caliban?”

She has no idea what game Cyfer is playing. And she thinks it is a game, to him. How did he know that these creatures would come? How did he know the world would change? How long has he known?

There was a lesson Father taught her, all those years ago, one lonely night in his study when it was only the two of them at home. Mother had taken Anna on a trip elsewhere. He meant it to be a lesson on making wise business decisions, but the admonition to always know what her enemies and allies are up to is just as valid here.

She’s flying blind right now. And the only way she can see to get some insight is to play along with Cyfer’s little game. The thought of it sticks in her throat, and her power hisses at her displeasure, but quiets easily. That’s...a first. She shakes her head at the thought; no time for that right now. Answers are the important thing right now. Answers and staying alive.

“Um, hey there.”

Elsa’s head snaps back up and a blast of ice impacts the wall in front of her.

“Shit! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please don’t kill me, I’m sorry!”

Elsa blinks a moment, breathing coming down to normal. In front of her is a small...well, it looks like a very tiny woman in a blue leotard with fairy wings. Very small. On the order of inches small. The...fairy...is hovering in front of her, her arms held protectively over her head. Then she realizes what she just did, and the guilt crashes onto her. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it! Are you okay? I’m so sorry!” She ducks her head back to her knees and curls up tighter against the wall. Oh god, she could have _killed_ someone. What is _wrong_ with her?

She feels a tiny hand on her right shoulder. She flinches back. “Hey. Hey. It’s okay. Really. I’m fine. It was just an accident. I’m sorry I startled you.” Elsa lifts her head up slowly. The tiny fairy woman is looking at her worriedly, short brown hair nearly falling into her eyes, hands up in a placating gesture. The fairy smiles crookedly. “I’m okay. Everything is fine. Are you okay?”

“Aren’t you...the ice…” Elsa mumbles.

“The ice won’t hurt me. And you’d have to catch me first.” The fairy’s smile grows wider. “I’m very quick.”

“Who...what are you?”

“I’m Pixie, but somehow I don’t think that’s the question you were asking. I’m a demon. And you are? I haven’t seen anything quite like you before.”

“I...I…” Apparently unable to form a coherent sentence is what she is. Elsa can feel her brain stutter to a stop, because it’s one thing to think about metaphorical devils, but this person in front of her just flat-out claimed to be an actual demon, and on top of everything else from today, she’s not sure how much more she can take. (Because her power nestles in her bones in such a way that she knows that she’s hurtling down a path she isn’t sure she wants to go, but has no way of stopping.)

“Hey. This is the point where you’re supposed to tell me who you are. That’s the point of this exchange.” The tone is light, and Pixie is hovering scant inches from her nose, head tilted to the side.

“Elsa.” Her voice cracks on the end, and she swallows down the broken syllable. “And I’m human.” It feels stupid and vitally important to say that.

Something passes through Pixie’s eyes, but she thankfully leaves the obvious alone. “Right. Well, Elsa-the-human, what are you doing down here?”

“I’m...I’m trying to find a way out. Upstairs. Out of the hospital.” She bites her lip. “Without running into those...large green things.”

“Oh, the ogres? Yeah, good plan. Dumb as bricks, but brutal.” Pixie puts a finger to her face and taps her cheek. “You know, I’ve got an idea.”

“And that is?”

“If you’re up to it, how about we help each other out. I want to get out of here too. But, as you can see,” Pixie says, gesturing to herself, “I’m kinda small. And some demons are kinda big. But you, with that ice thing of yours, you’re probably a match for at least some of the things in here.”

Business transactions Elsa understands She finds herself sliding into those patterns easily. “Sounds like you benefit more than I do.”

Pixie shrugs. “Hey, I can pull my weight. It’s just, you know, not that much. And I’ll help explain things about demons to you, since I don’t think humans have that covered.”

Despite herself, Elsa considers it. She does need information, and Pixie is offering it. All Elsa has to do is let her tag along. And not hurt her with her ice. She’s not sure if she won’t, but all she has to go on is the fairy’s word, and Cyfer _blocked_ it, so maybe she’s right. Maybe she found someone she can’t hurt. Can she really let that, possibly the one good thing to happen today, go?

She feels a tentative smile tugging at her lips and takes a deep breath. “Okay.”

Pixie grins.


	3. avalanche, start inside of me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "Avalanche" by Matthew Good

**Day 1**   
**02:30 Sleeping World**

 

It had never occurred to Anna just how far it is from their house to the Arendelle Group headquarters, but she suspects that the time might have something to do with how she has to either dodge or fight her way through more of those strange wolf-men with bad Harry Potter accents.  Those guys really add a time penalty to getting anywhere in a normal amount of time.  At least she has Joan.  She shudders to think about in how much trouble she would be without her.  Well, probably dead.  Which she is not.  Which is good, and Anna is extremely interested in keeping it that way.

Oh god, she’s rambling.  Even in her own head.  Is the fact that the world has gone completely upside-down driving her crazy?

She hears something suspiciously like laughter in her mind.

The creepiest thing, though, beyond the crazy creatures flying overhead and lurking in the streets, is that she isn’t seeing any people.  Maybe they’re all _indoors_.  Anna hopes they’re all indoors.  But the lack of cars and people on the street, especially in the business district and shopping center she had to pass through on her way to Elsa’s office, that’s just not right.  All together, it just makes her skin crawl and not even Joan can stop that.

Anna taps the bat against her shoulder as she walks.  The bat’s getting a little more dented than it used to be, but it’s not her fault those wolf-men things have hard skulls.  She’s getting better, though; she’s down to being able to knock them out in a swing or two.  Well, as long as she doesn’t get mobbed.  In any case, she isn’t too far from the office building now.

She’s only a few blocks away when she hears the yelling.

It’s a shock, because seriously, she’s heard _nothing_ that sounds like another human in over two hours.  But she starts running.  Someone’s in trouble.

She skids into the intersection, sees six large, green creatures surrounding a human, and reacts without thinking.  Joan appears in front of her with a war cry and blade flashing in the strange twilight.  The creatures barely stand a chance.  The first two fall to Joan’s first attack, hitting the pavement hard enough to crack it.  By the time the other four realize what’s happening, Joan’s a whirling piece of bladework on the other three. 

The last one is the closest to the other person.  It turns to face the new threat, and Anna, running on instinct, performs the greatest slide-tackle of her life straight at the creature’s ankle.  The thing loses its balance right into Joan’s imitation of a non-lethal Cuisinart, and the entire fight is over in under 30 seconds.

See?  She _is_ getting better!

Anna picks herself up off the ground, and _ow_ , okay, that was not the smartest idea she’s ever had, sliding on concrete.  She’s now got a nasty case of road-rash and her socks are shredded.  Dammit.  At least she isn’t bleeding.

“Oh man, thanks!  Are you okay?”

She looks up and _oh wow_.  Is this the guy she saved?  He’s taller than her, looks slightly older, red hair somehow still perfectly styled, and is _drop-dead gorgeous_.  And he’s smiling at her and christ, this is like a movie or something.  And he’s talking to her.

“Oh!  Yeah, I’m fine, totally fine.  Knew what I’m doing.  No problem.  Um.  Hi?”  Oh god, she’s _babbling_.

If anything, his smile grows a little shyer.  “Hi.  Um, thanks.  For saving me, I mean.”  He looks down at the closest creature and kicks it a bit.  It doesn’t stir.  “I would have been in real trouble if you hadn’t come along.”

“Seriously, not a problem.  Totally not a problem.  Not a problem at all.  With the saving.  It’s not awkward at all.  Or a problem.  You’re not a problem, you’re gorgeous.  Wait, what?”

He laughs.  “Well, thank you!  For that and the rescue.  Again.”  He holds out his hand.  “I’m Hans.”

She takes it, and tries not to let the fact that she’s squeeing internally show on her face.  “I’m Anna.”

“It’s nice to meet you.”  He glances around.  “Again, not that I’m ungrateful, but what’s a pretty girl like you doing out here?”

She knows she’s smiling wide enough her face hurts, but come on, he just called her pretty.  Focus, Anna.  “Out here?  Oh!  Right.  Well, I’m on my way to the Arendelle Group.”  She pokes her fingers together.  “It’s not that far.”

“The Arendelle Group office?  Why are you going there?”  Hans looks back at her, a concerned expression on his face.

“Oh, well, my sister works there.  And she didn’t come home for dinner.  And I know she’s, like, this crazy workaholic, but sheesh,” Anna waves her arm around her head at the not-sky.  “I mean, come on.  What am I supposed to think?”

“Well, come on.  Let’s go to the office.”

Anna grins at him.  Okay, this is not actually going to be the worst thing ever.  Sure the entire world’s gone crazy, but this?  This is good.  She takes off down the street, Hans following right at her side.  He keeps up easily, despite his earlier trouble with the green things, so at least he’s not injured terribly.  Not that she saw blood, but, well, she didn’t exactly do a thorough examination.

“You’re worried,” he says.  She turns to him, confused at the seemingly-random statement.  “About your sister,” he clarifies.

“Well, yeah.  I mean, wouldn’t you be?”

Hans shrugs.  “Sure, I guess.  But my brothers and I aren’t exactly what you’d call ‘close’.  There’s a lot of us.”  He laughs.  “I’m kinda lost in the shuffle sometimes.  But...they are my brothers.  So I guess I’d be concerned about them if they were stuck in this.”  He grins, a little crooked.  “I think you might be a better person than I am.”

“You can’t be serious.  Wait, are they not here?”

Hans shakes his head.  “I’m totally serious.  There are thirteen of us.  But I’m the only one here.  College student.”  He peers at her.  “I don’t think I’ve seen you on campus.  But it’s a big school, and I don’t know everyone.”

She laughs.  “That’s because I’m not a college student.  I’m still in high school, although I’m almost done.  And come on, you can’t be that much older than me.”

“You got me!  I’m only a freshman.  But maybe I’ll see you on campus in the fall?”

Anna shrugs.  “I dunno yet.  I applied to a couple of places.  I mean, I’d like to go to the college here, since it’s close, but, I dunno.  Aren’t you supposed to go away for college?”  She’d applied because it was close, and the tuition was cheaper, and maybe she could intern at the family company while she went to school.  Those were things that happened, right?  It didn’t have anything to do with the fact that Elsa went there, nothing to do with the nightmare that said if she left, she’d never see her sister again.  The nightmare that pointed out that’s exactly what had happened with their parents.

But the conversation with Hans is none of that, and it’s easy to push those thoughts down.  The conversation is comfortable, casual.  “I might be biased.” He grins. “And I’d be contradictory.  I went away and go here.”

The streets are fairly clear right now, and while the emptiness might have bothered her, it’s hard to mind it right now.  Joan shifts in the back of her mind, wary of threats, but settles as she doesn’t seem to sense any sort of danger.  Which honestly, is probably the most reassuring part of this situation, and lets Anna feel less guilty about the conversation.  Because Hans is currently looking at her like she’s the most interesting person in the world, and Anna can’t remember the last time that happened.  If ever.  “So what are you studying?”

“Theatre arts, actually.”

“No way!  I would have thought something like, I don’t know, business.  Or political science.”

Hans laughs again.  “Wrong brother.  No, seriously, all my brothers are business or econ or poli-sci.  I need to do something else, you know?  Something different.  I can’t live in their shadows anymore.”  He shrugs.  “So, theatre.  I’ll make my own way, on my own terms.  Be my own person.  Then they’ll have to look at me and see _me_ , you know?”

And Anna does know.  Knows that feeling probably better than anyone else.  She’s always been the afterthought, the spare.  Oh sure, Mama and Papa cared.  They cared a lot, and tried their best to make what time they could.  But Papa had a business to run and there was always the spectre of Elsa over everything.  Her sister who shut her out, who wouldn’t give her the time of day, the one who inherited everything of importance.

Last year, there was a magazine article: Top 25 Leaders Under the Age of 25.  Elsa made the list.  It was a horribly awkward day in class, when her teacher put her on the spot about it.  God, there was more information about her sister in three paragraphs than Anna had known from 13 years of living under the same roof.  It had been...mortifying.  That even her teachers, people who’d never even met her sister, still compared Anna to her.  And despite how many theatre productions she was in, how many soccer games she won, how many trophies and awards she brought back, none of them ever seem _good enough_ to make people see Anna for Anna.

But here and now, here’s there’s Hans, giving her his undivided attention.  She’s interesting to _someone_ , someone who doesn’t know anything _but_ Anna.  And she saved him.  It’s the least she can do to pay that back right now.  “Maybe you’ll remember me when you’re all famous.”

He smiles, and it shines like the full moon.  “Someone like you?  I don’t think I could forget the girl who saved me.  You’re unforgettable.”

\----

 

**Day 1  
** **02:45** **Sleeping World**

 

“So what were you doing down there, anyway?”

Elsa blinks at Pixie suddenly breaking the silence between them.  They’ve been walking down the corridors, trying their best to dodge more of the ogres.  They had a few close calls, but quickly ducking around corners and being quiet worked well enough.  Which is why Elsa’s a bit confused at Pixie’s sudden bout of chatter now that they’ve gotten to a stairwell that’s actually unlocked.  “What?”

Pixie shrugs.  “Down there.  No offense, but it doesn’t seem like your kind of place.”

Not her kind of place?  No, she’s spent more time down there than anyone.  It should be her place, but it isn’t.  It really never was.  It’s Cyfer’s.  He’s the one who brought her there, bound her there.  (She feels the storm inside prowling, straining at its chains.  She clamps down harder.)  So maybe Pixie’s right.  But maybe she’s wrong.

Elsa really doesn’t want to talk about it.  Not with someone she just met.  Probably not ever.

“Eh, doesn’t matter.”  Pixie flits about Elsa’s head, deciding to ignore her own question, and Elsa’s grateful.

She’s not willing to let the conversation totally die, though, as they pass through the first-floor door and into a corridor.  “So, is there any place in particular that you want to go after we get out of here?”

Pixie jerks a little, and Elsa worries that she overstepped, but the little woman shakes her head.  “Didn’t expect that to be your first question,” she chuckles a little, “but yeah, I do.  I want to find my sisters.”

And isn’t that a stab to the heart, Elsa?  Her sisters.  God, Elsa’s been trying to avoid thinking about hers, and she should know that’s an impossibility by now.  Anna’s been in the back of her mind a least since the day she was born.  Elsa doesn’t even know what the world outside the hospital, outside this basement, looks like.  Oh my god, how late is it?  She’d promised Anna that she’d be home for dinner.  She promised.

(She’s promised before.  Her life is a blasted landscape of shattered ice and broken promises, of cold words of “later”.  Forever “later”.  Anna’s right.  She’s a liar.)

Hell is empty and all the devils are here.  With the ogres and probably other things wandering about, Cyfer wasn’t lying about that, at least.  God, is Anna safe?  The doors to their house are strong; hopefully strong enough to keep her safe.  But Elsa doesn’t know when the demons came.  Did Anna even make it home?

“Elsa?”

Pixie’s voice rips her out of her thoughts.  Right.  Conversation.  “Sorry.  I got lost in my head there.  Your sisters?”

Pixie gives her an odd look, then shrugs.  “Don’t get too lost in there.  I’m kind of liking you.  Anyway, yeah, sisters.  Well, other pixies.  It’s complicated.  But I somehow got myself separated from them and ended up trapped in here.  I think they’re meeting in that big park nearby.”

“Marshall’s Common?”

“I think?  There wasn’t exactly a sign.”

Elsa tilts her head a little to the side in an almost-shrug.  “It’s the biggest park in the city that’s anywhere close to the hospital.  It’s the most-likely option.”

“Sure.  That sounds like a reasonable place to -- whoa.”

She pulls up short, and Elsa follows her line of vision down the corridor.  The hallway they’re in ends soon and opens up into the front atrium of the hospital.  She can see the Information desk from here.  But she’s pretty sure that’s not why Pixie stopped dead in her...tracks.  (Flight path?)

No, the reason is probably the fact that there is, and Elsa will swear this until her last breath, what for all the world looks like a giant flying _stingray with a crown_ swimming near the ceiling of the atrium.  (She would _dearly_ love for the world to _start making sense again_ any time now.  Please.)  It’s then that she realizes that the hairs on the back of her neck are raised, and the ice inside seems quiet, almost in anticipation.  Her eyes close.  She breathes in, tastes rime and inevitability in the back of her mouth.

She cannot run from this.

The crack of a gunshot snaps her eyes open.  On the ground, there’s a small boy, frozen in fear.  Standing over him is a security guard, pistol aimed upward at the stingray.  Even from here, she can see the guard’s hands shaking.

The stingray roars.  “ _I’ll tear you apart!_ ”

She’s running before she even realizes she’s moving, Pixie’s surprised shout barely even registering.  Skidding to a stop as soon as she’s through the doors, her shoes squeaking on the tile as she plants her feet, it’s like something else has taken control of her body.  There’s a solid surety to her actions right now, the most sure she’s been since she woke up on that table.  The taste of rime has mingled with ozone.

“Hey, leave them alone!”  Her voice rings out like the crack of thunder, imbued with command she rarely uses.  It works, though.  The crowned ray whirls to face her, and out of the corner of her eye, she can see the guard sweep the boy up under an arm and back away.

Pixie catches up.  “Elsa, what the _hell oh shit, it’s him_.”

Elsa can’t spare a look back, not when she’s staring him down.  He looks her over.  “What did you say, punk?”  (And oh my god, is this incongruous or what?  Elsa’s never been called a punk in her _life_.)  His voice sounds like he’s been gargling with gravel.

“I said leave them alone.”  Some part of her is amazed at how level she’s keeping her tone.

“You trying to tell me what the hell I do?  No one disrespects Forneus, especially not a weak-ass punk like you.”  He bares his teeth at her, and even from here, she bets they’re sharper than steak knives.  “I’ll butcher you, and then the others.”

She doesn’t want a fight.  She never wants a fight.  It’s too easy to think about what would happen if she got angry, too easy for her to just slip a little too far.  It already did.  But deep in her bones, she knows mountains will move before she does, at least on this.  (The boy had green eyes.  They’re not the same, but similar enough that the weight of all her failures press down heavy enough.)  “Over my dead body.”

“That can be arranged!”  It’s the only warning she gets before he lunges at her, forcing her to dive out of the way, and then to roll again to avoid his lashing tail.  He roars again, frustration that she won’t stay still long enough for him to impale her written in every line.

A bolt of lightning his him on the back, changing the roar to one of pain and getting his attention off her.  Elsa rolls to her feet and sees Pixie with her hands outstretched.  Forneus rears up and spits a stream of ice at Pixie.  The little fairy can’t dodge fast enough, and her cry of pain echoes in Elsa’s ears.  (She lied.  She said the ice wouldn’t hurt her.  _She lied_.)  Elsa’s mouth goes dry, and she must lose all semblance of rational thought because she draws in closer to Forneus, who’s at least twice her size, and throws the hardest punch, the _only_ punch, she’s ever thrown in her life.

Her arm goes numb, bones vibrating with the force, and she’s lucky she didn’t _break_ her hand.  As it is, Forneus flips over and crashes into the ground.  Elsa doesn’t waste time and tries to make her way over to her...friend? companion?

It’s the impact that throws her off her feet, not any sort of pain.  She looks down and sees that Forneus must have retaliated because her forearm is covered in ice.  The familiar leather creaks a little as she flexes her hand, and the ice shatters.  She tries not to think it’s a metaphor for something.  “That’s not going to work.”  And she really doesn’t know where this strange confidence is coming from, but right now, she’s not complaining.  “Cold really doesn’t bother me.”

Forneus snarls.  “Maybe not for you, but you’re not the only one here.”  Oh no.  Pixie.

He rears up again, and Elsa reacts without thinking, throwing her hand out in the direction of the little fairy.  A wall of ice intercepts his attack, springing from the ground between him and Pixie.  Pixie whips her head around to stare at Elsa, a grateful look on her face.  But Elsa barely catches it, staring instead at her outstretched hand.  Her gloved hand.

“So.  You deal in ice as well.  You may be able to stop one attack, but you can’t save everyone with that trick.”

Elsa tears her eyes away.  Her heart freezes in her chest as she realizes what he means.  He’s turned back towards the security guard, forgotten in a corner, and the wide-eyed boy in his arms.  Neither she nor Pixie would be able to stop him in time.  This can’t happen.  Not again.  (She sees another child, struck with ice and deathly still.)  She’s too far away, she can’t stop it in time.  They’re careening for disaster, and she can’t stop it.  Helpless.  Thirteen years and she’s still powerless to change anything.  Not again.  She can’t let it happen again.

Something shifts in the back of her mind.  A whispered word slides into her brain, cold and hard.  It feels like a choice.  It feels like absolution and damnation.  She’s standing at a crossroads, and all she has to do is take the step.

It’s not really a choice at all.

Her ice howls up her spine, twisting and raging and _purposeful_.  It strains against its chains, stronger than ever.  The word burns on the tip of her tongue. rime covers the back of her throat, and when she pushes it past frosted lips, it’s only a whisper and Elsa lets it go.

“ _Bufudyne_.”

Her power _roars_.  It’s free and wild, racing up her spine, hollowing out her bones.  A lance of ice leaps from her outstretched hand, devouring the distance, and spears Forneus through the back. 

Ichor splatters on the ground in fractal patterns, hissing and steaming.  The giant stingray makes a sound, halfway between a scream and a gurgle and shudders before going limp and still, impaled on a spike of ice like an insect on a pin.  His crown tumbles from his head, the clatter echoing in the silent atrium, and rolls to a stop at her feet.

Her face is wet.

Elsa blinks once, twice.  (Her power buries itself under the chains again.  It feels almost content.)  She lowers her hand, and looks up.  The child is safe, unharmed.  She takes a step towards them.

“Stay back!”

Elsa freezes.  The guard is holding the boy away from her with one arm, shielding him with his body.  His other hand holds the pistol.  It’s aimed at her face.

“Just...stay back!  I’ll shoot!  Stay away!”

She brings a hand up to her face.  Her fingers come away tacky, ichor coating the tips of her gloves.  She looks at Forneus again.  A thin, high-pitched voice, slightly muffled as if the owner is talking through someone else’s shoulder, breaks through.

“Please.  Please make the monster go away.”

_What have I done?_

Elsa staggers back.  She can’t _breathe_ , can’t suck air into her lungs.  Hoarfrost slithers up her throat.  Her hand claws at her chest, at her breastbone, right over her heart.  Even through the leather and the fabric, her fingers dig in, turning her weapons inward.

_What have I done?_

Forneus hangs dead and dripping from the icicle, belly-up and splayed-out in a macabre display in the center of the hospital atrium.  His eyes are wide and glassy, staring at her in shock and accusation.

_What have I done?_

She looks down at her hands (The blood is all over her jacket; how is that going to come out?) (Oh god, not the time _not the time_ ), still sheathed in their gloves.  It’s not making sense.  She’s still wearing the gloves.  The ice...it didn’t matter.  Elsa looks up, feels her heart hammering in her chest and it all _hurts_.  The guard is still pointing the pistol at her, the barrel obviously shaking still.  She hears nothing but the sound of her own breathing and the quiet sobs of a terrified little boy.

She takes a step backwards.  And another and another.  Her focus shifts between the guard and the boy and the mess she made; she can’t keep it all on one thing, not when she’s trying to keep her power down, chained and locked, suppressed because she can feel it spiking again, and she needs to get away before she does something she’ll regret.  Something _else_ she’ll regret.

“Elsa…”

A rush of air blows past her.  The automatic doors, they still work, and her response is just instinct at this point.  She turns and runs.  Runs from the accusing look, the child’s tears.  She runs as if the devil himself is nipping at her heels, and he very well might be. 

“Dammit.  Elsa!”

Air burns in her lungs, her throat tightens, and she chokes on a sob of her own.  She doesn’t know where she’s running to, she just needed to get out of the hospital, needs to get away from people.  Needs to get away from people she could hurt.  So she runs, as hard and fast as she can.  (Her tutors always said she was good at running.  She thought that ironic.)

Somehow, she ends up on the top floor of a parking garage.  There’s no one around.  The hoarfrost burns like a brand on the back of her tongue, the fear of it, of what she wrought driving her onwards despite it.  When faced with a wall, however, she just stares at it dumbly.  There’s nowhere else for her to run.

All the day’s events hits her like a truck.  She just can’t go any further.  She gasps for breath and slides down the wall, burying her face into her knees.  Eventually, the gasps turn into sobs, great wracking sobs that she just can’t stop.

All she can ever do with her power is cause hurt.  Thirteen years, and nothing has changed.  She curls in on herself, the weight of her failure pressing down on her.  The boy’s accusation rings in her ears.  How could she be anything else?  What’s been done to her...it’s always been there, hasn’t it?  The spike and the markings, they’re just telling the world what Elsa’s known for years.  The mask is just gone now; she can’t lie anymore.

“Elsa!  God, you’re hard to keep up with.  Come on, I -- oh.  Oh dammit.  Oh, _kid_.”

She’s only vaguely registers that Pixie followed her.  There’s so many questions (why did you lie? why are you here?), and she should tell her to go away (she’s dangerous), but all she can manage is a mumble.  She doesn’t even know what she said.  It doesn’t matter, not anymore.  The tears won’t stop.  Elsa can feel them freezing on her cheeks.  The entire structure must be an icy wasteland, and that’s just another failure added onto the pile.

Distantly, she hears humming.  It’s a simple melody, soft and somber.  It threads through her thoughts, gently drowning her.  God, she’s so tired.  As she focuses on it, it sounds a little like a lullaby.

It’s the same lullaby Mother used to sing to her, when she was little and had a nightmare.  When she woke to ice all over her bedroom.  How did…?  She can’t think anymore. The measure of the melody, the six-eighth beat that pulls her further from it all  The fear inside aches, the ice a constant rumble, but she just wants to stop, if only for a moment.  There’s nothing she can do to fix it, to hide it.  And it really doesn’t matter, not now.

So Elsa lets go, and falls into slumber.

\-----

 

**Day 1**   
**03:15 Sleeping World**

 

The Arendelle office looms before them.  Anna’s been here more times than she can remember, but for some reason, it looks spookier now.  Okay, the reason is actually obvious, what with the world gone crazy and all.  Seriously, it does not take her almost _three hours_ to get here, even if she is walking.  That’s why, you know, her parents bought the house they did.

But!  They finally made it.  She walks up to the front door, Hans two steps behind her.  And the door doesn’t open.  Anna huffs out an annoyed breath.  Seriously, after all this?  Okay, fine, it’s technically after 9pm, the front door being locked after hours kinda makes sense.  It’s just, after all this, another closed door is just freaking perfect.

Anna lets her forehead _thunk_ against the glass in frustration.  It feels surprisingly satisfying.

Before she can think too much on that, however, she catches movement inside and grins.  It’s Kai, one of her father’s people, who’s been around since before Anna could talk.  He’s moving as quickly as he can to the door, and even from here, she can see that relief is obvious on his face. 

“Ms. Anna!  What are you doing here?” he exclaims as he opens the door, quickly waving both her and Hans inside.  He doesn’t wait long in closing it behind them, almost slamming the door closed and locking it as soon as they’re clear of it.

“Funny story: Elsa said she’d be home for dinner.  And then never showed up.  And then the world,” she gestures outside, “went all weird and I’m kinda concerned.  Well, mostly concerned that she’s doing that thing again and is buried under a mound of paperwork.”

“Um, wait a minute,” Hans says a little sheepishly, raising his hand like he’s in class.  “You said you were trying to get to your sister.  Your sister is Elsa Arendelle?  CEO of the Arendelle Group?”

Anna winces.  It’s not that she’s ashamed of Elsa or anything.  It’s just...it was nice when Hans saw her for herself.  Now he’ll do the thing everyone always does.  She sighs.  “Yes?”

He blinks, looking incredulous.  “You’re _Anna_ Arendelle?”

That’s...that’s new.  “Um, yes?  Sorry?”

Hans blinks again, and then rubs the back of his neck.  “And I thought _I_ had it bad.”  He shakes his head.  “Wow, whine much, self?” he mutters, almost too low for Anna to catch.

Oh god, could he be for real?  “No, no, it’s fine!  I mean, ha ha, it’s just me, you know?  I’m not, well, you know.  Right?”

Thankfully, Kai saves her before she can dig herself into an even deeper verbal hole.  “I don’t know if Miss Elsa left.  But it’s late, and she would have my head if I let you two back out.  To say nothing of what your father would have said.”  He turns to Hans.  “Thank you, young man, for helping Miss Anna get here safely.”

“Well, actually, she kinda helped me.”

“Oh!  Well then.  In any case, we’ve set up cots and blankets in the cafeteria, and I think there’s still some hot food and drink left if you’re interested, young man.  Miss Anna, I think Gerda is still upstairs by your sister’s office.  She’ll know better than I do about Miss Elsa’s whereabouts.”

“Thanks so much,” Hans says to the man.  He turns to Anna.  “I, um, well, is it okay if I get ferried off?  A bed sounds really good and I kinda forgot to eat dinner before everything went all crazy.”

Anna makes shooing motions with her hands.  “Oh, go on.  I’ll be fine, seriously.  What’s the worst that could happen?  I’ll see you in the morning?”

Hans nods.  “Definitely,” he says, and lets himself be led off by Kai, leaving Anna alone in the main foyer of the office building.

It’s different, right now, traveling through these hallways she’s walked, run, and on one occasion danced, through so many times.  They’re quieter, emptier.  She’s not sure if it’s always like this after-hours, and if it is, how did Elsa stand it?  All those nights alone in these places, the ghosts and echoes of people written across the offices and desks.  She’s reminded, suddenly, achingly, that this is a world that is not hers, these walls of paper and computer screens hold more secrets than she is privy to.

Or is this feeling just another reflection of the weirdness outside?  The streets were strangely empty, even for 6PM.  At that time, there should have been noise, should have been people.  More people than just Hans.  But the abandoned desks feel like an echo of it all, an echo of all the empty spaces Anna is more than familiar with.

In the back of her mind, Joan shift and settles.  It feels like a warm blanket, a reminder of _I’m here, don’t worry, you’re not alone._   It’s really, really welcome right now.

She makes it up to the Executive suite before she runs into anyone else.  It really isn’t surprising that Gerda is still there, even if Kai thought she would be.  Gerda tends to work almost as crazy hours as her sister does.  “Hey Gerda.”

“Miss Anna!  What are you doing here?  It’s dangerous out there!”

Okay, so she can still make Anna feel like she’s five-years-old and accidentally got chocolate all over Papa’s schedule.  “Yeah, about that.  I’m fine!  Really!  But, um, Elsa didn’t come home, so I figured I’d pry her out of her office and we could get out of your hair and back home where it’s safe and…” she trails off, once she sees the stricken and pitying look on Gerda’s face.

“Miss Anna...Miss Elsa left at 2:30pm.  She hasn’t been back here.”

“What?”

“She had a 3:00pm appointment, at Columbia Hospital.  She was supposed to go straight home after that.”

“But...but she…” She promised she’d come home.  She apparently had every intention of going home.

_Elsa didn’t lie._

Anna feels her fingers wrapping around hard plastic in her pocket, and she grips the little keychain tight.  Elsa wasn’t lying this time.  Something deep inside her chest burns at the thought.  For the first time in a very long time, something shifts and feels right.  Maybe...maybe things aren’t as bad as they seem.  Maybe her sister is trying.  Because, maybe, Elsa didn’t lie.

But Elsa still never made it home.  And, from the sounds of it, has been missing for the last six hours.  Anna can’t help it; her head whips around to the large window in Gerda’s office that overlooks the city.  The city is still bathed in that same half-twilight it was three hours ago, and the sky looks even weirder folded over when viewed from this high up.  She can see the tops of buildings, hanging upside-down from the sky.  It’s all so wrong.

She turns back.  “Gerda…”

The older woman’s face is sympathetic.  “I don’t know.  I tried calling her, but her cell phone was dead.”  Anna feels like smacking herself in the forehead for forgetting trying to call Elsa’s cell phone, rather than traipsing all the way here, but it really wouldn’t have done much good now, would it?  Especially since Gerda continues with “I tried calling you too, to make sure you were safe, and your phone was also dead.”

Anna blinks, and then pulls out her phone.  It claims it still has over 75% battery, although that number is probably quickly going down because she has no bars for service.  “Huh.”  She puts it away.  “You said she was at Columbia?”

Gerda nods.  “That’s where her appointment was.  But dear, you can’t be thinking of going after her, not now.”

“She’s my sister.  And she’s missing.  And have you seen outside?  It’s crazy.  She’s probably in trouble.”

“Yes, but…”

“Please.  If you know anything else, please, I need to know.”

The woman sighs.  “Fine.  But only if you sleep.  I don’t care what it looks like outside, it’s too late for you to be running around the city.  There’s a couch in your sister’s office.  I’m certain she wouldn’t mind if you used it.”

It’s a start.

Anna stares at the heavy wooden door that leads to her sister’s office.  It’s the gateway to Elsa’s domain, a place Anna hasn’t been since Papa died.  It feels almost...wrong to be entering without Elsa’s permission, without Elsa there.

The door opens without a sound.

The office is much like how she remembers it.  There’s the couch in the corner, next to a cabinet with stupidly-expensive liquor that she’s pretty sure hasn’t been touched since this was Papa’s office.  The desk, now covered in papers and a few math textbooks and three computer monitors, sits silent, looking for all the world like it’s just waiting for her sister to return.  The large window overlooking the city, now with extra-creepy, dominates the nearest wall.

There’s a door in the middle of the far wall.  Blue light streams out from underneath it.  That is new.

Anna feels an inexplicable pull towards the blue door.  The wood looks old, out-of-place with the more modern decor, and the metal doorknob looks worn and heavy.  She grips the handle.  It’s warm to the touch and smooth beneath her fingers, as if it’s been used for a very long time. 

She pulls it open and steps through, into a room with plush velvet walls in dark blue, with a blue carpeting.  It looks oddly like the inside of one of those very old-style elevators, only not.  She hears very faint music coming from...somewhere off where she can’t see.  There’s a set of couches and a large wingback chair in front of her, half-hidden in shadow. 

There’s someone on the couch.

The door clicks shut behind her.

“Ah, Anna Arendelle.  Welcome to the Velvet Room.  I’ve been expecting you.”


End file.
